


Fatal Attraction

by bodtsexual



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodtsexual/pseuds/bodtsexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein is a skilled assassin with habits he should really get out of, and often makes decisions too slowly.</p>
<p>Marco Bodt is an author who stays awake for far too long and looks disheveled 90% of the time.</p>
<p>When Jean is assigned a mission to find and kill Marco Bodt, he goes about it he usually does, taking his time, pinpointing the target’s weakness…he doesn't expect for the freckled man to be able to worm his way into his heart, causing him to question why he was given this mission in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rainy Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> what am i doing  
> future chapters will be longer i swear

The rain is pretty harsh today. Then again, when isn’t it? It’s not like Trost is exactly famous for good weather. That’s why it’s the best place to live, in my opinion. Rarely any tourists, generally dark and gloomy...

It’s assassin heaven.

My name is Jean Kirschtein. I’m 22 years old, and, believe it or not, I’m an assassin. Yeah, it’s pretty hard to believe.

I’m joking, I’m joking. If you saw me, it really wouldn’t be that hard to believe.

The assassin life isn’t as glamorous as people make it out to be, but you know what? I’m more amused than pissed off that people think we can do kills quickly and quietly. 97% of assassins are caught within four years of them being in the job. I’m part of the mere 3% that haven’t been caught within those four years. Nah. I’ve been an assassin for about...twelve years now. Pretty incredible, right? It just means I have training. No big deal. The earlier the age you train them, the better they’ll be.

Not to sound big-headed or anything, but I’m definitely a great assassin. Fucking incredible. You get me? I am _amazing_ at this job.

It would probably be why I was assigned to kill this dude.

It’s not uncommon to have...odd people on the hit-list, but this one? This one is extra odd. An author. A famous author, at that. See...authors? They’re not exactly the type of people you’d want to assassinate. Except maybe the author of Fifty Shades of Grey. That is definitely someone I’d like to assassinate. But unfortunately, I’m not allowed. Something about people needing to actually assign me to the job. I’m surprised that no-one’s actually asked for that woman to be assassinated; though, to be fair, I’d be happy if Fifty Shades was taken off the market. It romanticises bad relationships, and even I could write better porn.

But I’m getting really side-tracked. It’s a topic I’m fairly passionate about, seeing as I’m not the biggest fan of Fifty Shades, but whatever. Moving on quickly.

Today is moving day. Moving day as in...well, duh, I’m moving into a new apartment. Across the hall from the guy I have to assassinate. It makes things easier for me.

I observe behaviour before deciding how I’m going to assassinate someone. There are so many methods, and it’s easiest to find people’s weaknesses, worm your way into their life, then kill them using the quickest and simplest method you can find. It’s not a nice life, but I do what I have to. I’ve been told I take too much time, though. It’s not like I care.

I don’t have many boxes, so I finish putting everything in my new apartment pretty quickly. Thank god. My phone starts buzzing in my pocket, and it can only be one person.

Sure enough, it’s him.

Erwin Smith.

“Hello, Erwin,” I greet once I’ve pressed the answer button, sitting on the arm of the couch. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling to confirm that you have the files you need.” Erwin replies. Getting straight to business, as usual. I wonder if this guy knows what a break is. I doubt it. He’s not the type to take many breaks.

“Of course, of course.” I say, glancing to the coffee-table, which has various documents scattered over it. “My target is aged 23, named Marco Bodt. Correct?”

Erwin’s silent for a few moments, and I hear papers rustling. I hear a deep voice mutter something, then a small sigh.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he muses, “be careful, Jean. Try not to get too close, although..” He trails off. I know exactly what he was going to say. He really doesn’t need to, so I decide to cut him off before he actually says it out loud.

“I know, I know.” I grumble, “could I move in properly now? I have boxes to unpack, and, apparently, a neighbour to meet.”

“Do you have an excuse?” He questions. Excuses are not hard to come by, especially for someone who’s just moved in.

“Of course,” I reply, “I actually need sugar. So I’ll ask for that. Maybe the dude will invite me in. I don’t know, I haven’t read about what he acts like. I like surprises.”

Erwin sighs, before hanging up on me without so much as a goodbye. How rude. I chuckle to myself and slip my phone back into my pocket, before I stand up and look around. I could probably use a cup of coffee right about now, so I decide I should probably get that sugar...if the target is even in.

I hope he is. It’ll be troublesome if he’s not.

Making sure I have my keys, I leave my apartment and walk across the hall, pausing as I raise my hand. It’s always a little odd meeting the people I’m going to kill. It’s...surreal, almost.

Swallowing thickly, I shake my head and rap my knuckles lightly against the door. I hear a yelp and a thud, so I assume he’s in - unless he lives with someone. Maybe I should’ve checked more than just his picture, name, age and occupation. What a pain.

The door opens, and the man who opens it looks a little disheveled. His hair is a mess and it looks like he’s just thrown on pants seeing as his shirt is partially tucked into them...but I can clearly see that he’s the man from the picture I was given; Marco Bodt. My target.

He blinks slowly at me, before he smiles brightly.

“Hey there,” he says, “um. Sorry for my appearance.”

“No biggie,” I shrug, before I jerk my thumb to the door across the hall, “I...just moved in, and uh...well. I was wondering if you could spare some sugar?”

His eyebrows raise a little before he scratches his cheek, gaze flicking upwards as he appears to consider it.

“Yeah, sure. Gimme a second.” He grins and walks back into his apartment. I wait patiently, rocking back on my heels as I do. He’s back before too long and hand me a small bag of sugar. “I actually haven’t got that much left, so you can have what’s left.” He says, “welcome to the apartment building, I suppose?”

“Thanks, man.” I gave him the best smile I could, though I highly doubt it came out as more than a smirk. “You got a name?”

He blinks slowly, before he opens his mouth in a small ‘o’ shape. He looks like a fucking child, I swear.

“I’m Marco,” he tells me, holding out his hand. “You are..?”

“Jean,” I laugh, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. It’s fairly soft compared to hands I’ve shaken before. They’re not hands for doing bad things. It reminds me that only a small percentage of people do my job. Sometimes I forget that due to the people I’m surrounded by...It’s weird to know that the world isn’t assassin-land, but I suppose that’s just how things are. Just do the job you get, and be happy with it. That’s what I was taught; you don’t get a choice. How dumb.

“Well,” Marco gives me a gentle look, “it’s nice to meet you, Jean. If you need anything, I’m usually in my apartment, so feel free to just knock.”

“Thanks,” I say, “and thanks for the sugar.” I add, letting go of his hand and giving a small wave before I walk back across to my apartment. I glance back just in time to see him give a wave of his own before he shuts the door.

My target’s now confirmed. I know who it is and now that I’ve met him, my mission begins.

It turns out I don’t really need the sugar, as I actually don’t have anything to make coffee with. How annoying. I sigh and toss it on the counter in the kitchen, and set to work on unpacking boxes, all while thinking about how sweet Marco appeared to be.

That night, I don’t sleep as well as I usually do. I don’t know why. I don’t decide to question it, either. It’s probably some dumb reason, and I don’t particularly care. Whatever, I suppose.

* * *

  
I’m woken up by my phone ringing. However, by the time I manage to roll out of my bed and grab the phone, it’s stopped.

1 missed call from a friend of mine. It probably isn’t important, so I shrug it off and toss my phone aside then.

I debate whether I really need a shower...probably not to just get the mail and maybe go out for coffee. Yep, that’ll be fine. I throw on some jeans and a shirt and grab my wallet, making sure I have everything. Then, I head out of my apartment, completely skipping the shower.

Yeah, I procrastinate showers every so often. I swear, it’s just a bad habit I picked up from my high-school days, nothing big. I can totally get out of it when I like.

There’s a small ‘oof’ as I bump into someone. Not a good start to the morning. I look up and glare at whoever it is, only to find that it’s Marco.

“Oh,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. “G’morning?”

Marco blinks slowly at me, as if he’s not quite there. It hits me that, honestly, he probably isn’t there. Maybe he’s someone who needs to be woken up with coffee as well. He’s silent for a few more minutes before he raises a hand to wipe his eyes quickly.

“Mornin’,” he replies, in the sleepiest sounding voice I’ve ever heard, “I wouldn’t say it’s good, though. Way too early.”

I suppose he’s not a morning person, then. I shrug and begin to walk, aware that he’s trailing behind me. I don’t really mind, it’s not like he can do me any harm. Besides, he’s probably getting his mail or heading out. He doesn’t look as scruffy as yesterday, so most likely the latter.

“Yeah.” I snort, pressing the button for the elevator, “I s’pose so. Don’t see what’s so bad about early mornings, though.”

Marco shrugs and waits with me for the elevator. He’s definitely away with the fairies, I can tell from the distant look in his eyes. What a strange guy.

He doesn’t speak again. He doesn’t speak as we step into the elevator, nor as I press the button for the ground floor. In fact, he only speaks once we’re stepping out of the elevator.

“Did you live in this town before you moved to this building?” He asks. I shake my head. At that, he gives a small frown and rubs his arm, before sighing. “You wanna check out the best coffee shop around here?” He offers.

I blink at him. This guy’s way too nice for his own good. Seriously. Inviting a guy he’s met the day previous to drink coffee with him. Though...fair enough, it’s a nice suggestion, seeing as I’ve been to bad coffee shops and trust me when I say bad coffee is absolutely _vile_.

“Sure.” I nod, patting my pockets to make sure I have my wallet, “thanks, man. I’d be screwed if I had to go from coffee shop to coffee shop to find out the best one.

Marco laughs softly and walks towards the door with long strides. I have to quicken my pace to catch up with him. I hadn’t noticed how long his legs were, so I hadn’t expected him to be such a fast walker.

“It’s not that far,” he tells me as we head outside. It’s raining, which doesn’t surprise me, but it’s lighter than usual. It’s enough for Marco to pick up his pace, though, and I have to practically jog to keep up. This is why I stick away from people with long legs. They’re a pain in the ass to keep up with, seriously.

Soon, we’re heading into a small coffee shop. A little bell makes a light ringing sound as we enter, and I’m instantly met with the smell of freshly-ground coffee. It’s amazing.

“Well, look who it is,” I hear someone say. I look to the source of the voice, who’s standing behind the counter with a cloth in her hand.

She’s fairly tall and has freckles; just like Marco does. Her eyes are narrowed at me, and she gives a harsh scowl.

“Oh, you brought a friend,” she snorts, shaking her head and continuing to clean the surface, “that’s unlike you, Marco,” she continues, as if I’m not here, “you don’t usually bring friends here.”

Marco sighs and gestures to a table, sitting down and turning to look at the woman.

“Ymir, this is Jean. Jean, this is Ymir,” he says. Ymir scowls some more at me. It makes me wonder if she’s like this to everyone, or just to me. I suppose I’ll figure it out. “Jean moved here yesterday, so I’m showing him the best coffee shop. I’m sure Christa isn’t going to complain.” Marco continues. Either he doesn’t notice that his friend is giving me a death-glare, or it’s completely normal.

She’s silent for a few moments, focusing on wiping down the surface, before she sighs.

“Fine, whatever. Only because it’s Christa’s place, not mine, so I can’t kick out suspicious-looking people,” Ymir grumbles. How harsh. “The usual?” She asks, glancing to Marco. He nods, before looking to me.

“What do you want?” He mutters, “I know she comes off as a complete ass, but trust me when I say she’ll warm up to you.”

I shrug and rest my elbow on the table, leaning forward somewhat.

“I suppose I’ll have whatever. I don’t care, as long as it has caffeine in. And sugar.” I sigh. I can’t really be assed to look at the menu, so I’ll just have to trust Marco. He nods, seeming to understand, and stands up, walking to the counter and talking to Ymir in a low tone.

While he’s doing that, I decide to look around. It really is small, but cosy. There’s no-one else here, though it is a rainy morning, so it’s understandable that nobody would be here. Or maybe they were all scared away by Ymir. Who knows? She is pretty intimidating.

I look back to the counter to see what Marco’s up to, but he’s already on his way back, holding two cups of coffee. He sets one in front of me and sits opposite, wrapping his hands around the cup.

“I wanted you to meet Christa as well, but apparently she’s shopping. If she’s back before we leave I can introduce you two.” Marco says. I just nod, looking down at my own cup. I know I need to interact with him more and find out his weaknesses, but at the same time, I don’t want to get too close. This is so stupid. Sometimes I wish I had another method of doing things, seeing as my way is scarily risky.

“So, uh...” Marco starts. Apparently, he wants to strike up conversation. “What brings you to Trost? Any specific reason, or...?”

My fingers tighten around my cup. I honestly hadn’t expected to be asked this question, so having to come up with an excuse on the spot is kinda hard.

“Personal reasons,” I finally answer, refusing to look at him. “I’d rather you keep out of that. Thanks.”

I wince to myself once I realise how harsh my tone is, but Marco seems to be fine with it. In fact, I see him smile out of the corner of my eye, and his gaze is gentle.

“Ah,” he says, nodding slowly, “I understand. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you again.”

We settle into an awkward silence after that. I’m pretty sure Marco doesn’t want to anger me, and in a way, it’s kinda cute. I can tell he’s the one trying to befriend me, instead of the other way around. This is new.

I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, the bell above the door jingles again. I look to see who’s entered. A petite blonde stands there, carrying more bags than I can count. She must be pretty strong.

Ymir moves from around the counter to take a few from the girl, her gaze now settled into a softer one, rather than a glare.

The two head behind the counter and through a door that I assume leads to the kitchen; I’m not in a position where I can see properly. Marco looks to me and gives a gentle smile.

“That’s Christa. She’s generally pretty nice, unless you piss her off.” He states brightly, picking up his coffee and sipping it.

Now knowing who the short girl is, I nod and drink most of my coffee in one gulp. It really is nice; I thought Marco had been exaggerating. He seems the type to exaggerate often, but I’m pleasantly surprised. I hear a chuckle and look up to see Marco’s watching me.

“You like it?” He asks. I tilt my head to the side before I look down and manage a small smile.

“Yeah. It’s nice,” I reply, absently tapping the floor with my foot, “how can you tell?”

Marco’s gaze flicks upwards, something I’m assuming is a habit of his when he’s thinking. Most people look down or to the side, but not this guy.

“I suppose I’m good at reading people,” he says slowly, “I mean...that’s what I’ve been told.”

I consider this for a few moments before I manage a quiet laugh, finishing the rest of my coffee before I respond.

“You have quite the skill, then. I can’t read people for shit, and I end up pissing them off if I try to guess how they feel.” I tell him. He brightens up a little at this, and takes another sip of coffee.

“Marco!” Comes a rather light, cheery voice. I look up to see that the one Marco said was Christa is bouncing towards our table. She stops beside us and grins, “you brought a friend? Ymir said he looked like a criminal. She wasn’t joking.”

I feel my eye twitch. They’re so blunt. It’s annoying as fuck.

“Well,” Marco smiles softly, reaching up to pat her head. This causes her to give him a small frown. “That’s kinda mean,” he says, turning to look at me, “though I can see where she’s coming from...”

The three of them are ganging up on me. How cruel. I put a hand to my heart.

“I’m hurt.” I mutter, but neither of them seem to notice. Christa starts talking to Marco in a hushed tone. Even I can’t pick up on what she’s saying, but from the look on Marco’s face, he can hear. I feel left out, but I suppose they are friends, so I can brush it aside.

My head’s starting to hurt, though I’m not sure why. I lean back in my seat and pull my wallet out. Before I can hand over any money, Marco shakes his head and smiles.

“It’s on me.” He says.

“I...wow. Thank you.” I manage to mutter, rubbing my arm. “I think I’m gonna head home. I have a huge headache and I think I should probably lay down for a bit.”

Marco looks a little upset, but that look quickly goes, and he nods.

“Hope you feel better soon. If you need anything, you know where I am.” He smiles brightly. As I stand up, Christa puts her hand on my arm.

“We hope to see you here again. I promise that the more you come, the nicer Ymir’ll be to you. She can come off pretty coldly, I know.” She gives a nervous laugh.

I smile and nod, giving them a wave as I leave, the bell jingling as I open the door. The rain is harsher than it was earlier, and I end up sprinting down the street, retracing the steps I’d taken when Marco had brought me along. I’m glad I have a good memory, and I’m back in the apartment building pretty soon, though I’m soaked.

My good memory comes in handy when I need to unlock my mailbox, and I grab the mail I have before heading to the elevator, pressing the button and waiting. My clothes are pretty wet, so I make a mental note to change before I crawl back into bed.

About ten minutes later, and I’m back in my apartment, pulling on some dry clothes and throwing my wet ones aside. I gather up the documents I have on Marco and walk to my bedroom, flopping onto the bed.

I read over the papers, completely losing track of the time. Marco seems like an interesting guy, and I’m finding myself wanting to learn more about him before I have to kill him. He really doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d get on the wrong side of the wrong people on purpose. Maybe this was all just an accident? Maybe the client got the wrong person, or maybe Erwin had given me an old mission that had been cancelled but he’d forgotten...

Except I know that Erwin isn’t like that, and I highly doubt the client is like that, especially to pick such a well-hidden agency; one that people have started to think is just a myth.

It’s the first time I’ve ever doubted that I could kill someone, and I don’t know why my doubt’s started now, of all times. Is it because Marco seems like he deserves to live a longer life? Is it because I’m just backing out on the biggest mission I’ve had for a while?

Or is it because I actually _want_ a friend who isn’t a killer? Despite the fact I didn’t talk too much when we went for coffee, Marco wasn’t put off. I like that about people. He doesn’t seem the type to shove away people for them being different to him. For once, I actually wish I wasn’t given the mission to kill such an innocent guy.

But I need to go through with my mission, or I won’t get paid. Maybe I’ll find out why I have to kill him if I befriend him more. I can’t just dump the job and hope I get more work. That’s definitely not how it works.

I run a hand through my hair and toss the documents aside, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling.

I can definitely go through with this mission. It’s not like I have a choice.

I have to kill Marco Bodt.


	2. Tick-Tock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never really knew that such genuine people existed. I was raised in a world of liars and killers, after all. It's hard to imagine that people like Marco exist...and yet they do. And it's nice. It's a nice change from what I'm used to, and I...want to cherish it for a little longer.
> 
> I'm probably going to get in a lot of trouble for this, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sky is blue, grass is green and i cant write long chapters for shit because im an impatient ass.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I met Marco, and, not gonna lie, he’s a pretty good neighbour. I’ve noticed he’s not in the coffee shop as often as I thought he’d be(speaking of, I’m sure Ymir is still suspicious of me), but that’s fine. I think I managed to befriend him, or at least, the fact he gave me his number says that I have, as well as the countless times he’s decided to talk to me when we run into each-other.

Honestly...Marco’s a really sweet guy. Before I have to end his life, I’d really like to find out what happened for him to be put on the hit-list. I mean, seriously. Who’d want this guy dead? Either someone’s jealous of his work or he’s really done something bad.

But I have no choice, as far as I know. Either I kill him or I don’t get paid, and trust me, the pay is incredible, so that’s something I’d rather not miss out on. Though...I may have gotten a little too close to Marco, but that’s fine. Easier to find his weaknesses, I suppose. Not that I’m particularly happy about it.

I’m not lying to Marco about our friendship. We are friends, it’s just...I have a job to do, and I intend to do it. That’s all.

This life isn’t for people who are scared to lose those they’re close to.

I may be doubting if I can kill him, though. Can I really take the life of a man who’s proven himself to be a good person? These thoughts are new to me. Foreign. I’ve never doubted myself, it’s like Marco’s opened my eyes to the unfairness of our world. I hate it. I wish he’d been cold and rude. At least that way I’d feel less guilty about having to complete this dumb fucking job.

He’s invited me around to his apartment, so I’m standing in front of my closet wondering what I can actually wear. I know I’m over-thinking this, I just want to look decent, that’s all. It takes me a while, but I finally manage to pick out some jeans and a button-up that look half-decent, and check myself out in the mirror. Not bad.

Once I’m done worrying over my general appearance, I grab my keys and head out. It’s a quick walk to the other side of the hall, before I’m in front of his door. I knock, and wait as patiently as I can, rocking back on my heels. Moments later, the door opens, and Marco appears. He smiles once he sees me, then steps back to allow me in.

“Hey,” I greet as I enter, waiting for him to shut the door. Once he’s done that he leads me through to the living room. I’m 99% sure that this apartment is bigger than mine. It seems that way.

“Hello!” He practically chirps, gesturing to the couch. I sit down and take some time to look around. There are books absolutely everywhere, though they see organised. I notice a desk out of the corner of my eye, with more books, papers, pens and pencils all scattered messily over it, with a laptop in the center of the mess.

“Wow.” I find myself saying. I look back to Marco and find he’s giving me a sheepish grin.

“I’m really sorry for the mess. I just...I kinda ran out of room. Even the spare bedroom has books in it. Most of them I don’t even read.” He tells me. He then sits in an armchair opposite me, crossing his legs. “I mean, that’s partially the reason I’d like to start up a book store, y’know? Selling used books...I’ve got plenty of them here.”

I listen intently, finding myself nodding along to what he’s saying. I’d always thought that an author would be selfish, know-it-all _asshole_. But Marco? He’s none of that, from our interactions. He’s fairly sweet, gentle, and from the sounds of it, he’s also pretty kind and giving. It’s hard not to like him.

“Hey, Jean?” Marco saying my name gets my attention, and I lift my head to look at him. “I’m actually reading a book about anti-gravity,” he says. I raise an eyebrow. Where’s this coming from? “It’s impossible to put down.”

I stare at him, mouth opening.

“You’re shitting me,” is all I can say, “you’re actually fucking...oh god.”

He actually _giggles_ at me, before shaking his head.

“You know, I started learning sign-language...it’s pretty handy.”

He smiles brightly at me, but it’s not that sweet smile, the one that he usually uses. It’s mischievous, like his confidence has shot up, and he’s aiming to see how many god-damn puns he can throw at me before I snap. But I keep my cool. He’s just messing with me. Maybe it’s just some dumb test to see how much he can pun at me before I get pissed and leave. Well, Marco Bodt, I’m sorry, but you are not going to get rid of me that easily.

“Haha,” I huff, “you’re absolutely hilarious.”

“I’m done now, don’t worry. Sorry, I’ve been holding onto those for a while. I just needed to get them out, and you happened to be my victim.” He chuckles. I can’t help but smile when he does; it’s like his happiness is contagious. It’s times like these that I wish I was as good at keeping my emotions in check as some of my friends are.

I dare to study his expression. His eyes are bright, and he has dimples. God, it’s like Marco’s just been taken out of a Disney film. He’s a real-life Disney Prince, and I’ve managed to befriend him. For a couple of seconds, I feel lucky, until I remember why I’ve made friends with him. Right. I still have to go through with the job I’ve been given. I never realised it would be as hard as this.

“So, Jean,” Marco suddenly pipes up, leaning forward a little. “Tell me something about yourself.”

I stare at him blankly as I try to think of something about me that’s actually normal. Being trained as an assassin since I was ten? Nah, not normal. I chew my lip absently, brows furrowing as I try to pick out things that aren’t completely negative. This is harder than I’d thought it would be.

“Well,” I start, tilting my head back to look at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’m pretty boring now that I think about it.”

Marco stays silent, so I dare to look at him. He’s biting his lip, brows furrowed as if he’s thinking about something. I can only take a few minutes of the silence before I break it.

“So,” I say. He jumps a little as if he’s been snapped out of his thoughts, before he looks at me. “Why did you invite me around?” I ask once his attention is on me. He drums his fingers against his leg and stares at me blankly, blinking slowly. Then he blinks again.

“You know,” he chuckles nervously, a hand raising to rub the nape of his neck, “I just wanted to get to know you. You seem nice and we run into each-other often, so I thought I’d invite you around so we can talk a little. I dunno...sorry for wasting your time?”

This guy is definitely something from a Disney film. An actual Disney Prince. Not like fucking Hans from Frozen, god no. Probably Prince Charming. He’s got the looks for it, he has a great personality...and I need to kill him. Time is ticking and Marco isn’t making it any easier for me. I wish he was a huge egotistical douchebag. Then, at least, I wouldn’t feel so horrible for having to kill him. Marco could probably take candy from a baby and it wouldn’t even cry. If he smiled at it it would probably smile back and just let him go with the candy.

“No,” I sigh, “you didn’t waste my time at all, don’t worry. I was curious, is all. It’s nice to have something to do, to be honest.” I give him a small smile, one I hope doesn’t betray how horrible I feel right now, “I haven’t really been in contact with my friends recently, you know?”

Marco nods, giving me a sympathetic look. Don’t do that. I don’t want your sympathy. Or your sweetness. Or your perfect smile. _Stop it._

“I understand,” he hums, leaning back in his chair, “you know, a couple of friends of mine are having a house party. Nothing big, you know. Just a few friends. I’m allowed to take someone with me, so, if you want, you can come with?” He offers.

I bite my lip and try not to look uncomfortable. Sure, it’ll give me time to see what he’s like around more people, but...I don’t want to get more attached. Oh god, he’s giving me that look. You know, the one where their bottom lip sticks out the tiniest bit, and their eyes are somewhat widened? Except he does it so it actually looks like he’s a sad puppy. How I wish I had killed him a couple of weeks ago. This is dumb. He’s dumb. I’m dumb. Fuck Marco Bodt and his perfect fucking face and his beautiful personality.

“Sure.”

That was not the answer I had wanted to come out. I had wanted to say ‘no, thank you’. What had happened to that? Why did my brain betray me? I bet it was Marco’s expression. Speaking of, he’s brightened up again. He gives me a bright grin, and tilts his head. I’m pretty sure he’s just a figment of my imagination, now.

“That’s great!” He beams, practically radiating his happiness.

“When is it?” I question slowly, squinting at him. His grin drops and he slowly pulls out his phone, staying silent as he checks it. I scowl at him, wishing he’d checked before I had agreed, rather than after.

“It’s, uh...it’s in an hour.” He replies, giving me a sheepish look. I bite my lip and barely stop myself from groaning. I mean, on one hand, I look presentable already, but on the other, I kind of don’t want to interact with many people. But that kicked puppy expression comes back onto his face again.

“That’s fine,” I grunt, looking away from him. “I’m not busy, so I don’t see why not.”

I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s probably beaming from ear to ear.

“We should probably go now. Sasha’s place is an hour away by car, so...” He trails off. I whip my head to look at him, trying to fix him with the best glare I can muster, but I just end up groaning and shaking my head.

“So if we get smashed, we’ll probably end up stuck there if no-one’s sober enough to drive us back?” I groan. Marco hums in affirmation as he stands up, offering me his hand. I grunt as I stand up, pretending to ignore Mr. Perfect’s little giggle.

“Basically,” he admits, “though Bertholdt and Reiner, a couple of friends of mine, don’t usually get wasted...I mean..” He cuts himself off with a cough and a nervous chuckle, “I don’t either, but, yeah...just...y’know. Just if I do get smashed...I’ll introduce you to those two.”

I roll my eyes at him. What a dork. I watch him as he shrugs on a jacket and grabs his keys, before he turns to me, looking me up and down.

“Don’t you...want a jacket, or something?” Marco asks. I inhale sharply and shake my head. No way, Prince Charming. I am not borrowing a jacket from you and I’m not gonna go back in my apartment and get one.

“Nah, I’m good.” I say, crossing my arms, “let’s just go, yeah?”

He nods and leads the way out, holding the door open for me. He’s such a goody-goody, and he’s so genuine as well. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I want to cherish his friendship for just a little longer. I mean--I’m...definitely just keeping him alive to assess his behaviour. Yeah. That’s why I’m keeping him alive...no other reason. Just all part of my genius plan. Because I’m Jean Kirschtein. I always have a plan.

Or so I like to think.

* * *

 

One hour later and I’m standing behind Marco, wondering why I agreed to come. It’s cold as balls outside, and I’m mildly uncomfortable. Though...Marco wasn’t lying when he said it would only be a few friends. It’s genuinely just a little gathering of people, and Marco instantly walks over to a trio who look somewhat odd, standing together like this. The two guys smile at Marco, but the woman just gives a small nod.

“Hey!” He greets them, turning his head to look at me. I’m assuming he wants me to step forward a little, so I do.

“Oh?” The blond guy arches an eyebrow, “who’s this, Marco? A new boyfriend?” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows. I feel my cheeks heat up at this, but Marco quickly shakes his head.

“No,” he laughs, “this is Jean. He lives opposite me, and he’s a friend. Jean, this is Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie.”

Marco nods to them in turn. Bertholdt looks rather nervous - he appears to be sweating, too. He gives a small smile to me, and I decide that he doesn’t seem so bad. Reiner’s pretty confident and holds his hand out to me. I slowly take his hand to shake...and instantly regret. He has a grip of steel, so now my hand hurts. Annie, however, just gives me a small nod to show she’s acknowledged me, I suppose.

It feels a little awkward to just be standing here like this, so I’m grateful when Marco takes me arm and leads me to the kitchen, where there’s just a duo who seem to be eating what they can find. A brunette and a dude with a buzzcut. At our entrance, they both look up, and practically beam at Marco. It’s like everybody loves him. Understandable, I know. And it’s getting much, much harder for me to go through with my job.

Marco introduces the duo as Sasha and Connie; the hosts of this party, and apparently they’ve been best friends with him since kindergarten.

_Kindergarten._

It hits me in that moment that when I do kill Marco, I’ll be taking him away from all his friends. These people who seem to dote on him from the look in their eyes, these people who’ve been with him for a long time. My chest hurts, I feel like I’m gonna hurl. But I swallow it back and smile at his friends.

And that’s it. I’ve met the five friends who are over, and that’s all there is. It’s nice, though. It takes my mind off my job as everyone gathers around the table, sitting down. I sit next to Marco, and Sasha takes the other side. Connie’s holding a bottle of god-knows-what, but I know for a fact it’s alcohol. He passes out shot-glasses, before a small, rather mischievous grin comes over his face.

“Everybody knows how to play Never Have I Ever, right?” He asks. Each one of us nods. It’s not that hard a game to play, and even I’ve played it before. That does say a lot, trust me, though it was years back.

Connie fills up all of our shot glasses before he sits down at a chair in front of a piece of paper and a pen. He takes a few minutes to quickly write down all of our names, before leaning back.

Sasha decides she’s going to start.

“Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.” She beams. Everyone takes a shot, including Marco. He glances at me and gives a sheepish smile, and I return it. I can’t really judge, and besides, it’s not like I care. Sasha looks a little put out by that, though I can’t quite place my finger on why. It’s my turn next, though, so I quickly think of something as Connie goes around refilling our glasses.

“Never have I ever sent nudes to the wrong person.” I say, trying not to grin at the horror on everyone’s faces.

Both Marco and Bertholdt take shots, and instantly, everyone looks interested.

“Well, well, well,” Connie laughs, leaning forward to look at Marco, then to Bertholdt “spill the beans. Who knew our perfect little Freckled Jesus and precious Bertl-Turtle are less than innocent?”

Marco sinks down in his chair and whimpers softly, but Connie’s a good friend - he drops the subject upon noticing how uncomfortable they are. This game is really something that tests friendships, I’ve realised.

I’m not sure how long we play the game, but I know that by the end of it, we’re all embarrassed as fuck and we’re not exactly sober(minus Bertholdt, who dropped out after the third shot, claiming he was the designated driver).

“So, Jean,” Reiner smiles as he leans across the table to look at me. “What d’ya do for a living?”

I shrug and lean back, sorta thankful that I’m sober enough not to say ‘oh yeah, I’m an assassin and I'm here to kill your precious friend’.

“I’m between jobs right now,” I tell him, watching his eyebrows raise, “got enough money to keep me going for now, though.” I add with a nod.

Marco, beside me, is laying with his forehead on the table, I realise. I turn to look at him, and poke him, but he just gives a high-pitched whine in response.

“He’s smashed.” Annie says from where she sits. There are mutters of agreement around the table; we did get a little mischievous towards the end, using his love for books against him. Looking back on that, it was a little mean.

“We should probably go before he passes out. I don’t really want to carry him back to his apartment.” I mutter, rubbing my head. Annie gives a small hum and nods as I stand up, trying to pull Marco to his feet. “Come on, Marco.”

He groans and stands up slowly, stumbling over his own feet and grabbing hold of my shirt. What a loser. Guess the Disney Prince isn’t as Disney-like as he was earlier, huh?

Bertholdt stands up as well and walks around the table, giving a small smile.

“I’ll drive you back,” he says softly, “I can come back for Reiner and Annie - they aren’t going anywhere.”

I hope I’m giving him a grateful smile, because Marco isn’t making a move to stand up. He’s just clinging to me now, leaning most of his weight on me. He’s not that heavy, but it’s a little annoying.

It takes a while to coax him into standing up (mostly) on his own, and some more coaxing to get him into the car. He’s quiet on the way back, so I take it that he’s not a very interesting drunk to be around. Oh well, it doesn’t matter.

It's a very silent ride, and, after a while, Bertholdt pulls up outside the building.

“Thanks,” I say as I take hold of Marco’s arm, getting out of the car and pulling him with me. Bertholdt just gives me a small, shy smile and waits until I manage to get Marco out fully, shutting the door after him. I focus on keeping Marco standing, regretting actually using his love of books against him. It was a little mean, now that I think about it, and I suppose we could’ve mixed it up a little to avoid Marco becoming the drunkest of us all. I don’t even know if we picked a winner. I doubt it. “C’mon,” I grunt as I help him along, “we just need to get you back to your apartment and then we’re fine, yeah?”

I have no idea how long it takes to get him up there. He’s pretty fucking stubborn when he’s drunk, and sometimes he stops just to greet the fucking _potted plants_.

It’s ridiculous.

Somehow I manage to get him into his apartment and he crashes on the couch. It’s the perfect opportunity to kill him. All I’d have to do is get a knife from his kitchen. It’s simple-as. He’s drunk as fuck and just crashed there.

I make a move towards the kitchen, but something stops me. Maybe it’s the little snore he gives, or the expression on his face. Maybe I’m just wimping out...I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I need to kill him, I know I do. I’m getting frustrated as fuck not being able to do it, and now I’m given the opportunity...I physically can’t bring myself to harm him.

I walk out of his apartment and shut the door as quietly as I can before I head to my own. Once I’m in, I kick off the shoes and collapse onto my own couch, closing my eyes.

“Why the fuck can’t I do it?” I ask the empty place. Naturally, I get no response. Did I expect one? Probably. My mother used to spout nonsense at me. ‘A great assassin never hesitates his kills, Jean’, she’d say. ‘Friend or foe, he’d fulfill his job.’

Haha. That’s not making me feel any better.

In my pocket, my phone begins to vibrate. I pull it out and squint at the name before answering

“Hello?” I greet. Well, at least I’m not slurring my words that much. I don’t know.

“Jean,” comes Erwin’s voice from the other end, “have you completed your mission yet? Our clients are getting annoyed.”

“Sorry, Erwin,” I apologise slowly, considering my words as carefully as I can in this state of mind. “I haven’t found the chance to yet. I’ll get to it soon, I swear.”

He stays silent, and it’s nerve-wrecking just waiting for him to breathe, let alone speak. Finally, he sighs.

“Alright, Jean. I trust you...but please hurry up. If we’re not careful, our clients are going to find another agency and use them, and we don’t want that, because then you’ll be competing to kill your target. Last time that happened, it was like a war-zone around the target’s living area. Just hurry up, okay? The sooner you get it done, the sooner you get paid.” He growls.

He’s not very happy with me. I’m pretty sure he can tell I’m somewhat drunk, as well.

“Yessir,” I mumble, closing my eyes. “I’ll get to it when the opportunity arises,” I say. That’s a lie. The opportunity rose today, and did I do it? No. I didn’t. I’m fucking screwed. More screwed than I’ve ever been before. My heart’s pounding in my chest, my stomach is in knots. I feel horrible.

Erwin gives a hum of what sounds like approval before he hangs up on me. I toss my phone aside and bring my arms up to cover my face. I take a deep breath in through my nose, and expel it through my mouth.

I’m an honest man. I hate lying to others, it’s against my nature. But here I am, lying to my own boss and pretending I’m not a killer to my friend. It makes me wonder if I’m really cut out for all this. I may have been trained for it, and I may be good at it, but _god_ , it’s so hard to do the things I do. I genuinely don’t understand how some people can kill their own family so easily. It’s horrible.

I, Jean Kirschtein, have no idea what to do. I don’t have a plan. I can’t kill my friend and target, Marco Bodt. I’m lying to my boss and I’ve met Marco’s friends.

And hey, to toss a nice little cherry on top, I’m pretty sure I’d do anything that Marco asks.

It’s like I’m Hannah Montanna, except I don’t get the best of both worlds. To one person I’m a skilled assassin, who finds the weak-points of my targets and hits them where it hurts. To another, I’m a new friend and neighbour who appears to be unable to say no to him.

It’s like living in Hell.


End file.
